The long and winding road
by Poppy Threetree
Summary: A Merry and Estella romance.Will the lovers ever be together despite the interference of her family and his plans? And can Pippin bear to see the one he loves in the arms of another?
1. Rude awakenings

**Author's note:** This is my first attempt at fanfic so I hope I don't offend anyone or make any major faux pas. All comments/reviews gratefully received. I have set the opening of the story in the weeks before the four hobbits leave Crickhollow, and you will see my guide is mainly the book, however, I, like millions of others can see no other Merry than Dom, and no other Pippin than Billy – they are my inspiration. There will be sexual content in further chapters, so if that freaks you out, you know what to do.  
  
**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own any of it, except the maids Dandy and Pennyroyal, it all belongs to Newline and ... what's his name? Some Tolkien bloke, that's right.  
  
**Rude Awakenings**  
  
Estella awoke to a crash and the sound of breaking glass. She sat up immediately, throwing back the bedclothes, but she was almost inured to the shock of it. Budgeford, a large and imposing hobbit-hole of great antiquity had these last years been the scene of many such dramas, mainly due to her father's ever increasing reliance on the ales and fruit cordials served at the local inn and his own ever dwindling cellar. It was only as she wearily got to her feet and shivered a little in the cold night air that she remembered – her parents were not at home, they had been away visiting the Took at Great Smials this last week. Her heart began to thump, a horrible, hasty jig. "_Not _Papa," Estella made herself move to light a lamp from the embers in the hearth, although what she really wanted to do was get back into bed and pull the covers over her head. She was alone in the house with only two servants, one elderly and apt to take on hysterics, and one young and silly as might be. It was up to her...  
Out in the passage, two frightened faces peered from behind another door. "Miss Estella, a madman's got in-,"The Bolgers maid-of-all-work, Dandy Fleetfoot was bug-eyed with excitement and let out a small scream when another crash came from the parlour.   
"That, or the master has come ho..."Pennyroyal, slightly more sensible, but devoid of tact began. Over the throb of her heart and their chatter Estella almost didn't hear the muffled laughter, also coming from the parlour, but when she did, her terror almost instantly turned to white-hot anger. "I could slip out through the kitchen and run to Bridgefields for a shiriff in no time at all, Miss..."   
Face set, two spots of hot pink high on her cheeks, Estella shook her head, ebony curls appearing to dance in inappropriate merriment. "No need," her voice had an element of steel well known to both maids. Miss Estella was a right demon when roused and no mistake, "go back to bed, I'll deal with this."   
Dandy had started shaking. "But Miss, if it's _burglars_..." Such a thing was virtually unheard of in the Shire, and rare even in the wilds of Bree, but if her master was not responsible for the sounds which had woken them, Dandy could not but think of some strange evil...Maybe even trolls! Estella Bolger, however, was made of sterner stuff. She marched past the two maids, down the hall and threw open the parlour door. It did not swing all the way back, instead hitting something with a sickening thump, that noise being followed by a deep groan. The sight that greeted Estella confirmed all she had deduced in the last moments since hearing smothered male laughter.   
She turned back to Dandy and Pennyroyal, who were slack jawed and silent with wonder that she should dare confront a possible maniac with such audacity. "My brother has decided to come home with some of his friends and they are-," she paused, nudging Fredegar's prone form with what passed for a dainty foot in the Shire. He was clutching his head where the door had hit it, while a string of drool slid down his double chin, "they are all _disgustingly_ drunk."   
"Not drunk," corrected one of their number, winking at the uncommonly pretty young hobbit Pennyroyal, "not I. _I_ am merely Merry."   
The third of the male hobbits, Peregrin Took, was most assuredly intoxicated, and shrieked with laughter at this pallid witticism, collapsing almost on top of the prostrated Fredegar. Merry Brandybuck, however, merely smiled at his own cleverness and continued trying to gather up pieces of broken china from the ruins of the small table that had once stood beneath the parlour window. Evidently, Estella's brother had thought it might take his weight as he climbed in through the window, and, well, he wasn't known as Fatty for no good reason!   
"_You_," Estella began, "you _utter_ nincompoops..." Her voice trailed away into inarticulate fury. Merry's bright blue eyes traveled over her nightgown-clad body, then he met her gaze with a cheekily raised eyebrow.   
"Lost for words? That's not like you, Stella."   
What she resented, more than the indignity of her brother's drunkenness, and the broken table which was a valuable antique and a gift from Bilbo to her mother, or even the smashed vase, painted over with delicate anemones in one of her first attempts at painting, more than all that, she hated the betrayal of her body's response. He had only to look at her for her stomach to be a mass of quivering butterflies, and when he said her name...   
Somehow, Estella maintained a grim countenance. She looked to the servants. "Turn down Mister Fredegar's bed, then go back to your own," concern and trepidation was written in Dandy's eyes as the older servant looked down at the heir of their house – was Fatty going to be just like their father, Ordovacar? Who would _ever_ marry him if they thought that? They might as well give the keys of Budgeford to the Sackville-Bagginses now, as they'd never be able to pay them the money they owed without Fatty making a good match. Her painting didn't bring much in the way of money, most people, while more than happy to have her paint them or their house, spoke of her art as of an eccentricity, which was hardly to be wondered at considering she was half Took. They couldn't live on pretty pictures when the house and all their lands were gone...   
All of these panicked thoughts had quite successfully pushed Merry from her mind, and when he spoke again in that soft Buckland burr of his, Estella was recalled to the present with a start. She was suddenly very conscious of the cold night air streaming in through the open window, and of the flimsiness of her nightdress, not to mention Merry's continued appraisal.   
"Would it be possible to stay tonight? I don't think Pip's in any fit state to continue to Brandy Hall."   
A wry smile twisted Estella's lips. "Why even ask when you can just break in? I suppose my halfwit brother has already invited you, so far be it from me to deny you the hospitality of Budgeford."   
Merry smiled again, that damnable, knowing smile and made a little half bow. "I humbly accept your kind offer, such as it is." He didn't seem anywhere near as drunk as Fredegar, or Pippin, who was still rolling about at their feet, chuckling to himself and occasionally wiping his eyes. Merry gazed at Estella as she bent over Fredegar, trying to rouse him. She shook his shoulder, but he only groaned again. "I think you knocked him out when you hit him with the door."  
"It's no laughing matter, Meriadoc!" Estella spat.   
At that same moment Pippin stopped laughing, turned pale, convulsively moved towards the fireplace and threw up into the cinder box. Both Merry and Estella made two involuntary steps away from Pippin, who slumped against the settle and moaned softly. "Urgh...my...head..." A spark came into Estella's violet eyes as she looked from Pippin to Merry, a spark he knew of old, and which made him take another backward step, raising his hands as if to ward of evil. "Now, don't over-react..."   
She shook her head. "You are a disgrace to the name of Brandybuck," her voice was icier than the breeze lifting the autumn leaves outside the window, "my _brother_-," she swallowed hard, trying not to cry, "well, my brother is his father's son, but _Pippin_ – he's little more than a child! Look at the state of him..." Estella moved to Pippin and put a protective hand on his forehead, brushing back the chestnut curls.   
Silent for a moment, Merry half shook his head, an aggrieved expression at last replacing his smile. "You're always so _hard_ with me Estella, I don't..."   
"Sorry," Pippin's groan drowned him out. He looked up at Estella with his best puppy-dog eyes, allowing himself to be helped up, "I'm _so_ sorry...If I could just lie down..." He staggered against her, "I feel so _ill.._." Putting her arm about the young hobbit, Estella led him out of the parlour. "Pip can't you see how stupid all this drinking makes things..." Her voice was gentle, quite the reverse of what it had been to Merry. She led him to the great bedchamber, and pointed to the high feather bed, indicating Merry should pull back the covers. Pippin leaned heavily upon her and shot Merry an arch look from beneath long lashes. However drunk, the Took was never beyond mischief. "Here's a nice soft bed for you," Estella soothed.   
"Bridgefields beer isn't a patch on the Green Dragon's," Pippin slurred as he eased into the embrace of the Bolgers' best bed. He groaned slightly, "Mmm...soft, nicely soft...but not as softly nice as your bosoms, Estella." He chuckled and turned over.   
"You can share with him." Estella said, not looking at Merry, a hot red flush on her cheeks. She turned to leave the room.   
"I'll help with Fatty, you can't move him on your own."   
"No thankyou."   
Merry made a gesture of impatience, "You'll never move him on your own! Let me hel..."   
Again, her eyes sparkled a warning. "You've done quite enough!"   
The door slammed behind her.   
"Oh," Pippin put his hands on his head, "oh _why.._."   
"Shut up." Merry stood indecisively, looking at the door. He wanted to follow her and have it out, apologise if he had to, he _hated_ it when it was like this between them...Sometimes it felt like she didn't...   
"You didn't ask her about the portrait."   
The voice from the bed, a great deal less slurred than only a small while before, interrupted his troubled thoughts, but Merry chose to ignore Pippin's opening gambit and said, "Don't look at her like that," he'd noticed that Pippin had been quite open in his inspection of Estella's body through that gauzy nightgown, "she's not some tavern drab, or a piece of salted pork to be salivated over."   
Pippin smiled to himself and laid a hand over his throbbing temples,"Oh, so you can look at whomever you like... but no-one can look at her?"   
"No," Merry frowned and came to sit on the opposite side of the bed. He gave his chin a thoughtful scratch, then began to remove his coat, "Don't read more into it, Estella isn't..." What?   
"Get on with it Merry, if you don't marry her soon she'll end up with Pimple."   
The thought of Lotho "Pimple" Sackville-Baggins and Estella made Merry feel very strange indeed. That was what had brought them here tonight, Fredegar casually mentioning that Estella had begun a portrait of Lotho, and that she hadn't wanted to do it but after much wheedling and arm-twisting had agreed. _"Mother and Lobelia seem to think that twice weekly exposure to the charms of Pimple will be enough," Fredegar had looked sadly into his tankard of ale and shrugged, "I must admit it would solve all the money problems Papa has put us in."   
Pippin had given Merry what he thought was a significant look at that moment. Had the world_ _gone mad? Merry just looked stupidly down at the table, so Pippin had prompted Fredegar, "Enough for what? What are you talking about Fatty?"   
Fredegar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Our estates are mortgaged to the hilt and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins holds the debt."   
Shaking his head in disbelief, Pippin kicked Merry under the table. "Are you saying that Pimple thinks Estella would..." he couldn't help laughing, "Fatty you can't be serious!"..._   
Now he uncovered his eyes and looked up from the pillows at his best friend and cousin, saw the furrow of deep thought etched between his brows and wondered. "Merry?"   
"Go to sleep Pip."   
"Ask her about it," Pippin insisted, "Tell her that if she marries Pimple I'll never speak to her again so long as she lives." He laughed softly.   
Merry stood up and went out of the room.   
Pippin gave a small nod, which he instantly regretted, and closed his eyes.   
Merry went back to the parlour. Pippin was acting as though all he needed to do was ask Estella to marry him, when they both knew it was far more complicated than that. There was something hanging over their group of friends, Frodo most of all. Soon, very soon, Merry thought, Frodo would need to leave the Shire and he couldn't be allowed to go alone... How could he make plans or promises knowing that at any time he'd have to leave and she couldn't know why?  
Fredegar was still lying on the floor, but a pillow had been placed beneath his head and a thick blanket was tucked about him. Merry went to the window and latched it, noticing the absence of the despoiled cinder box, and that most of the shattered table and china, other than that on which Fredegar lay, had been gathered into a basket for removal. Estella's light step in the doorway made him turn in time to see her reaction to his presence. His heart sank. "Don't be angry, I..."   
There was a long silence during which Estella mastered her need to feel his arms about her. Her voice was barely audible and halting when she eventually did speak, "I'm not angry, I'm just tired..."She was pale with cold and fatigue, and as she set down the newly clean cinder box a tear slid down her cheek. Dashing it aside, Estella folded her arms, "as you see, I'm practiced in this sort of drama."   
Her father, of course, was a noted drunkard, for all that the Bolgers were an old family, at least as good as any Brandybuck, Took or Baggins.   
"Poor Estella..." the words were out before he could think and instantly the fire was back in her cheeks. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me!"   
Merry was stung by the look in her eyes, and made a small gesture of self- deprecation, again speaking without real thought. "Of course, you do such a good job of it yourself."   
Immediately tears shone in her eyes, dropping uncontrolled from the sooty lashes. He longed to hold her, beg forgiveness, but a small part of him also felt satisfaction that he could hurt her – she _must_ feel the same way he did, that was all it could mean. "I'm _sorry_, I didn't mean that, I ..."   
"You _did_ mean it," she was sobbing, her face in her hands, "You meant it all. Bringing them here- _drunk_- it makes me sick-you just go on your _stupid_, 'merry' way...and you never think ..." Estella stopped, aware of her incoherence. She wiped her cheeks with her knuckles and shook her head.   
In a moment he was across the room, barely a hands breadth away from her, somehow holding himself back from touching her, reminding himself that Fredegar lay at their feet. "Stella..._please_..." She raised her eyes to meet his and he felt his heart turn over in his chest – she had never been more beautiful to him than at that moment, tear stained and wretched though she was. His hand moved uninstructed by reason and stroked her cheek, but she stepped away, out of his reach, "_Stella_..."   
There was a loud groan from the floor, followed by Fredegar sitting up and looking about him with bleary eyes. "Help a chap to bed, there's a good Brandybuck, eh?" Merry squeezed his eyes shut and made fists of his hands for a second, then nodded. "Of course Fatty, come on..."He offered Fredegar his arm and watched Estella's departing form with pained eyes.


	2. Unwelcome visitors

**Unwelcome visitors  
**  
No more sleep had come to Estella, the rest of the night had been spent tossing upon her bed, turning over and over Merry's every word and look, and she did not rise for breakfast. Food would have choked her even if she had been hungry. The task of trying to force down food whilst making polite conversation with her brother and Pippin seemed insurmountable that morning, so she kept to her bedchamber.   
An hour or so after her first knock of the day, which had announced breakfast, Dandy called quietly to Estella that the guests were about to leave. Estella made no reply, but waited silently. When a small child, she'd sometimes retreated from the world like this, hiding in her room under the bed, or out in the great waving fields of wheat and barley of her father's lands, believing that if she could only be alone and quiet enough whatever troubled her would simply go away. How absurdly trivial those troubles now seemed! A party missed, or a broken toy, and the world was awry – one embrace from Mama and it was immediately set to rights. What could ever remedy this ill? To love one who looked with eyes of ridicule upon that love? It wasn't her mother's comforting arms she needed...   
She waited until Dandy went away, listening to what sounded like two sets of footsteps recede, then slid from the bed and moved to her silent watching place at the window. A huge wisteria grew about the front of Budgeford, and now it blazed with golden autumn leaves, hiding her from view as she stood by the casement. Outside, Fredegar held the bridle of the nut-brown pony Merry habitually rode, whilst Pippin sat shifting impatiently on the back of his mount, a sturdy roan.   
"What kept you?" Pippin called as Merry appeared on the porch. Fredegar handed him the reins and Merry swung easily into his saddle, making some comment which Estella could not hear, but which evidently amused the other two hobbits, for they laughed, Pippin's sweetly mad chuckle marrying well with Fredegar's chesty rumble. With a light tap of their heels, Merry and Pippin spurred their ponies on toward Brandy Hall, lifting a hand in farewell to Fredegar.   
Estella ran her fingertip over a bubble in the thick glass mullion, biting her lip. That was that then. Whatever had been between them – whatever it was – it seemed to be over now. But _why_ – Estella shook her head, angrily fighting more tears – _why_ had he kissed her at her coming of age party? Had he been making fun of her, or did he really not know how much she...?   
She turned away from the window and called out to Dandy, her voice cracking, " Dandy!" A suspiciously short moment later, the servant looked into the room, her kindly face lined with concern. Somehow, Estella managed a smile, "would you get a bath ready for me? And lay out my writing things, I must answer Pervinca's letter..."   
Dandy clasped her hands together anxiously. "Mister Brandybuck wanted a word before he left."   
Estella silenced her with a look. "A bath would be the purest bliss, dear Dandy."   
Nodding, the older woman paused, then began again, "Those Sackville- Bagginses are expected later this morning, Miss Estella," she saw the involuntary twist of her young mistresses' lips and knew that Estella had not only forgotten the appointment but that she far from relished the thought of it, "never you mind Miss, I can put 'em off, say you're indisposed, like." It was what she'd told young Mister Brandybuck, explaining that her lady sometimes "took on bad in the night with a headache". She hadn't liked fobbing him off like that, he'd looked so very downcast, but the idea of doing the same to the odious Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her equally revolting son Lotho was altogether sweet. Dandy had been subjected to what she considered much ill bred rudeness by these supposedly grand people. Truly gentle folk, like the family she served, or, indeed the Tooks or Brandybucks, were always polite to servants.   
Estella smiled and shook her head regretfully, "A good plan Penny, but I must receive them. Mister Sackville-Baggins' portrait is almost done and the sooner that is off my hands the better!" Her mind went to the canvas up in her studio, or "garret" as Fredegar delighted in terming it, "I'll just have to grit my teeth and get on with it."   
Bath postponed, for Lobelia and Lotho were notorious early callers, she dressed in a gown of forget-me-not blue, old but of good quality, and slipped a rough linen apron over it. She made the barest effort with her appearance, dragging a comb through her curls and splashing her face with icy water from the ewer near her dressing table. Before all was quite done, the report of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' imperious rap at the door echoed throughout Budgeford. "_Odious _people," Estella muttered aloud. Then, having allowed herself the luxury of venting her true opinion of the visitors, she went out to meet them with an artificial smile of welcome pasted on her rosebud lips.   
Mother and son, equally unprepossessing specimens of hobbithood, stood by the fireplace in the parlour, but Fredegar was nowhere to be seen. Inwardly cursing her brother, Estella made a sketchy curtsey to Lobelia. Both Sackville-Bagginses were staring at the basket by the hearth, still brimful of broken shards of walnut table and pottery vase. Lobelia lifted a quizzical eyebrow and looked from the basket to Estella, "Has there been some accident here Miss Bolger?"   
By her tone, Estella could almost believe that Lobelia knew full well about the revels of the preceding night, but of course that was impossible. She clearly expected an explanation. Estella glanced at the basket as at a thing of no consequence, "An accident, yes, just so," she forced herself to keep smiling, "good day Mistress Sackville-Baggins, good day Lotho."   
Lotho came forward and took her hand, pressing it between his own meaty, sweaty palms. "Estella, I am _most_ anxious to begin," Estella extracted her hand and surreptitiously wiped it on her skirt, while Lotho turned his pale pebble eyes to meet those of his mother, "we are so very near completion, mother."   
"Yes indeed," Estella turned eagerly to the door, "yes, the light is quite brilliant in the studio today, we should make a start..." Nothing could have suited Estella better, it was common for Lobelia to spend the best part of half an hour in a monologue that would brook no interruption, or to issue contradiction after contradiction even if others were able to have some part of the conversation. Lotho was not her choice of subject, but painting him was preferable to entertaining his mother.   
Lobelia, alas, was undaunted. Her pale grey eyes were almost reptilian as they followed Estella's movements. She knew perfectly why her son hoped for more time alone with the Bolger girl, but he was a fool. What was it Ordovacar Bolger had said the last time? _"She's an obedient girl...a good girl...she'll do what's best for the family."_ Another fool, she thought with an inward snort of derision. The man simply didn't know his daughter. There was no sense of duty in young hobbits today, they were all silly, selfish, romantic little fools, and Estella Bolger was just like the rest. For whatever reason, however, her Lotho, her only son and heir, had set his heart upon her.   
"Not so quickly young miss," she forestalled them, "I wish to see how it progresses," the girl turned and met her stare with eyes that betrayed a flash of irritation, "if it is a good likeness."   
Estella inclined her head, something almost akin to amusement passing across her features, "I think you'll agree that it is," and thought, but did not add, "_and a thing of ugliness in consequence_."   
She led the way to the back stairs of Budgeford, past the servants' bedrooms, to what had once, in the days of larger Bolger broods, been a nursery and now served for her workroom. Most of Budgeford, old as Brandy Hall, had been burrowed out of the base of Budge Hill, but her garret was a later excavation into the crest of the hill, a spacious chamber with three large round windows looking south and letting in glorious sunlight. Her paintings were neatly arrayed about the room, and a huge old table was laden with bowls of pigment, brushes and a grinding and mixing mortar. An old, high backed leather chair, another of Bilbo's castoffs was placed where the light was best, and draped with faded red velvet. Before it stood an easel, and on that was the almost completed portrait of Lotho.   
Lobelia made a great show of stepping over imaginary obstacles to get to the picture and then spent a long while peering at it. A good likeness it most certainly was, that could not be argued. Lotho sat on the chair, the velvet creating a sumptuous backdrop, and stared a challenge out of the canvas, his eyes narrowed, chin jutting. Yes, anyone who saw it would know the subject to be Lotho Sackville-Baggins...but Lobelia could not escape the suspicion that there was some element of ridicule behind the painting. She frowned, unable for once to put into words the criticism she felt warranted – glancing across at Lotho, she saw he was staring hungrily at Estella, who was in her turn oblivious to his scrutiny, setting about her paints and brushes. If Lotho _really _thought that the girl was coming around then he was even more of a fool than she already surmised.   
With a sigh, Lobelia made a small nod in Estella's direction and swept from the room.   
"Alone at last!" Lotho hazarded, laughing loudly. He sounded not unlike a braying ass.   
Estella frowned distractedly, still bent upon her tools. "Would you take up the same position?"   
His good humour faltered a little. He sat down on the chair and re-arranged his jacket so that the long coat tails hung in perfect symmetry either side of his legs, then set his expression...  
All the while she painted, he chatted, explaining at one point the ins and outs of his recent purchase of Bag End, quite unconscious of her lack of attention. For her part, Estella might as well have been working in total silence, so little did she attend him. With brush in hand he ceased to be Pimple, a plain, nay, an ugly hobbit. Estella saw him almost as an inanimate object, a series of interconnecting shapes, an exercise in light and shade. To paint him she didn't have to think about Lotho Sackville-Baggins at all...  
She stepped back from the canvas and eyed it critically. "I think we can dispense with further sittings," she looked over at her subject and wiped her brush on a rag, "it is finished."   
Lotho came over to examine his painted self. A hot flush of pleasure crimsoned his spotty face and he clasped his hands together in delight. "I shall hang it in the hall at Bag End when we move there!" He seemed enraptured, looking at his own image whilst she quietly tidied her work things. "You have made me look so _distinguished_ and so... well, not _handsome_, but..." He moved closer to her, dragging his attention from the painting to the sweet, white curve of her neck where her curls swung forward as she bent over the workbench, "there is flattery there, Estella, do you really see me so?"   
"I have painted what I saw," she answered neutrally, beginning to remove her apron, "I..."He grabbed her hands as she tried to untie the apron strings, holding them hard. Estella cried out with combined surprise and pain, her hands automatically twisting to extricate themselves. "Lotho! What are you doing? Let me go!" "_Go_?" With an odd laugh he swung her about, the momentum throwing her hip hard against the table, but her cry of pain only seemed to excite him further, "What am I _doing_? You know perfectly well what, little Miss Estella..." His face loomed over her, the pale eyes bulging, "Come here..."   
Her mind was spinning as she tried to twist from his grasp. How had this happened? How had she not seen the meaning behind his simpering anxiety to shake off his mother when she visited, or her family if they were at home? Sickeningly, she then remembered how easily everyone seemed to melt away in such situations – it could only mean that her parents and Lobelia, and, yes, even _Fatty_ understood the real reason for Lotho's visits. But she had not.   
Thanks to her attempts to twist away from him, Lotho's lips landed only at the edge of her mouth, and then skated on a trail of their own spittle to her cheek. He seemed momentarily satisfied and released his grip on her hands. Estella sprang sideways, stumbling in her haste to put space and the comforting bulk of the old table between them. "There has..." she wiped at her cheek, "there has been some misunderstanding."   
He smiled contentedly. "Not on my part."   
She was shaking but managed to stand up straight, her chin tilting proudly. "I have _never_ for a moment..." "Come Estella," impatience had now crept into his voice, "you cannot have been ignorant of my intentions. I had no need of a portrait of myself, fine though it is, it was merely a pretext..."   
"No," she rasped. Her mother and father had talked her into painting Lotho – she had refused at first, but they had insisted and she was obligated by their promise, no argument swaying them. Cold sickness filled the pit of her stomach; she had to swallow down hard upon it, her voice sinking to little more than a whisper, "_no..._"   
Her repeated denial angered him, popping the bubble of confidence he'd been floating in all morning. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth, "it is all arranged Estella. Your precious mother and brother can keep living here. You will live at Bag End as my wife."   
Vehemently shaking her head, Estella backed away from his advancing form. "No! I _could_ not! I don't love you – I don't even _like_ you!"   
His hand shot out and caught her cheek with a stinging blow. Estella was speechless with shock, powerless to move – never in her life had she been struck.   
Lotho pressed his advantage, and his stone coloured eyes had taken on a lizard-like coldness as he loomed over her, grabbing her upper arm and almost instantly bruising the tender flesh beneath strong fingers. "Is that so? Well," he chuckled nastily, tightening his grip with each word, "your ale-sot of a father likes me and my money well enough for the both of you..."   
"Fredegar!" Estella called out for her brother. He couldn't – he wouldn't let Lotho hurt her...   
Lotho laughed again, twisting her arm, "It's no good calling _him_ Estella, we passed him on the road to Hobbiton before we got here..." he dragged her away from the table, panting slightly, and began to fumble with the lacing of his britches...  
  
**Author's note:** More to come! Let me know what you think (pretty please!) 


	3. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

"Estella!" The voice, as sweet as song, echoed from the staircase. Abruptly, Lotho released Estella and hurried back to the finished painting of himself, pretending to resume his inspection. He tried to calm his ragged, excited breathing, biting down on his lip as he pushed his disordered shirt and turgid member back into his trousers. The door swung open...  
  
"Stel..." Pervinca Took swept into the room, Pippin's double in feminine form, right to the brilliant green eyes glowing with good humour, "Since you never seem to have time to answer my letters – oh..." she stopped short, her delicate nose wrinkling with ill-concealed distaste at the sight of Lotho, "hello Lotho, what are _you_ doing here?"  
  
Lotho focused on adjusting the set of his jacket cuffs, pulling them down to cover the skin Estella had torn with her nails. He turned from the picture, avoiding Pervinca's questing gaze. "Just leaving," at the door he paused to look back at Estella. She was leaning over the worktable, apparently intent upon her pigment jars, her back to both of them. "You think about what we have discussed, Estella. Think _very _carefully." With a nod in Pervinca's direction, he slammed the door behind him.  
  
"What in stars did he want?" Pervinca mused, making a face at his back. She approached the easel. Here she thought she had found her answer. She eyed the painting, head at a bird-like angle: Lotho, complete with puffed out chest and smug smile, was the image of pomposity! "We have some prodigiously ugly warty old toads in the pond at Great Smials should you wish to continue in this vein – I'll ask Pip to catch one for you." There was no answer from the other girl, neither laughter nor a defence of her work, the continued silence puzzling Pervinca into changing tack, "Aren't you glad to see me? I came over with your parents – well, I rode on ahead, they're too leisurely for me..."  
  
At last Estella lifted her bowed head and turned toward Pervinca. Across her left cheek was the hectic red mark of a blow, and a set of scratches, beginning to ooze blood, ran from the base of her throat to her breast, where her bodice hung limply on one side, torn across. Otherwise, she was deathly pale.  
  
Pervinca's mouth fell open with shock. She rushed to Estella, leading her to sit in the chair so recently home to Lotho's slug-like body. It was hard to find words, much less form them – her mind was reeling. The state of Estella's dress told a tale that neither Pervinca nor any other hobbit was too innocent to guess at. "What..._what_ has happened? Dearest, what has he...?"  
  
Estella covered her face with shaking hands. "You have saved me from something _so_ terrible... I...I feel sick..."  
  
Thrusting the first paint pot to hand at Estella, Pervinca gently held her hair back while she was violently ill, the bile seeming to dredge from the very bottom of her being. At last the paroxysms ended, although Estella still shook as though in a fever. She suddenly became aware that she was partly unclothed and tried to pull her bodice together. Swiftly, Pervinca removed her own shawl and wrapped it about her kinswoman's shoulders. She pushed the damp hair back from Estella's brow, a sparkle of sympathetic tears making her eyes glow like emeralds. "Tell me, Stella, _did_ he? Did he force you?"  
  
Estella shook her head mutely. There would be scratches in other places – on her buttocks and thighs where he had clawed at her, trying to prize her legs apart – the bracelet of bruises on her arms...She had fought him with every ounce of her strength, and he would have his own marks of battle, she was sure, but it had been so close to completion, only the realization that Pervinca was about to come into the room had prevented him from entering her.  
  
Taking the paint pot from her, Pervinca gently wiped her face with the apron that had been thrown on the floor. Her delicacy and concern were the greatest possible contrast with Lotho's violent, determined assault and Estella grabbed Pervinca's hand, squeezing it fit to break the bones. "I have _never_ been so glad to see you, dear, dearest 'Vinca," her voice was low and ragged, "If you hadn't come...I...I couldn't fight him anymore..."  
  
They had ever been the best of friends, as much a pair as Merry and Pippin, and Pervinca was frantic with worry for Estella. She bent to embrace her, holding her shivering shoulders. "Estella, your parents _must_ be told -," she continued over Estella's protest, "whatever madness made him behave this way he cannot be allowed..."  
  
"'Vinca, I beg you, _no-one_ must know," wiping her streaming nose with the back of her hand, Estella gazed at the painting on the easel, her gorge rising again at the sight, "I've spent weeks on that..._thing_," she gestured with revulsion to Lotho's image. "It will be said I led him on to it – that I – that it's impossible I could have spent all those hours and hours painting him, alone with him and not... and never..."Her voice dissolved once more into broken sobs, "_How_? How could I have been so _stupid_? So _blind_?"  
  
"What do you mean? We all thought him nothing more than a fool, no-one knew he was mad, Stella...How could anyone blame you?" Pervinca felt confused. Estella was still shivering, her movements jerky and oddly puppet- like. Doing her best to offer comfort, Pervinca rubbed her shoulder only to hear the sharp intake of breath that betrayed pain, "No-one could believe you wanted this."  
  
"I know what Lotho will say!" Estella was able to rasp out the words against another wave of nausea.  
  
Pervinca frowned. "It doesn't matter what he says – _no-one_ will take his part!"  
  
Estella shook her head once more, nausea and dizziness almost overwhelming her. She felt hardly able to breathe, and slumped against the high back of the old chair, regarding Pervinca through heavy, reddened lids. "You don't understand, 'Vinca... My father's debts, you see, require redress...there have been Bolgers at Budgeford since time immemorial and now...now we could lose it all, unless..."  
  
Gently, Pervinca rubbed her hand, trying to follow but still floundering. "What has all that to do with Pimple?"  
  
"He says it's all decided – Lotho will keep a roof over my family's head but only if I am sold in marriage to him. Only no one told me. They _all _knew..." A sudden, horrible thought came to her: had _Merry_ been told she was promised to another? Was that why he had seemed different towards her of late?  
  
As if reading her mind, Pervinca said: "Merry."  
  
"No! Pervinca, please!"  
  
"He must be told Estella-," she returned the pressure of Estella's handclasp, as if her own certainty could be channeled into the other girl, "If you tell him, you can marry and he'll pay your father's debts, a hundred fold if need be! Lotho can't possibly claim you if Merry does!"  
  
Something of Estella's native pride returned to her, betrayed by the suddenly lifting of her chin. "How could I ask that of him? It would be _begging_ him to marry me! And what if he didn't wish it, but wanted..."  
  
"Of course he wishes it!" Pervinca insisted, "He kissed you – he said ..."  
  
"But he has changed to me Pervinca... and we have had such arguments...everything I say seems to come out all wrong, and he... he..." she remembered the way he'd looked at Pennyroyal last night, not the first open act of flirting he'd meant her to see, and a pain worse than any Lotho could inflict contracted within her heart. "I think he's trying to make me understand that he never meant to bind himself...that he regrets..."  
  
"You _think_?" Pervinca's soft voiced question halted the flow of words. She squeezed the other girl's hand, "Oh, Estella." More tears came then. Pervinca laid a light kiss on Estella's brow and drew her up from the chair. It did not escape her notice that Estella seemed to be in pain on moving, and her disquiet deepened. "Stella, if you are determined this is to remain secret..."  
  
"I couldn't _bear _anyone to know," she fixed Pervinca's gaze with her own huge-eyed stare, "promise me you won't tell anyone Pervinca."  
  
"Very well," although it was against her better judgement, Pervinca nodded, "we must get you tidied up. A bath perhaps, dear Stella?"  
  
Estella thought of Lotho's clammy hands moving on her skin and shivered – would she _ever_ be able to wash that feeling away? "Yes. That is what I need."  
  
"I will call Dandy."


	4. Reflections

**Reflections**

Water brimmed in the copper bath, a mist of steam rising from the surface like the whisper of pipeweed smoke. Estella thought of Gandalf's cleverness with smoke rings, a comforting enchantment from childhood days, then swirled her hand through the water to disperse the rose oil Dandy had sprinkled there. She was alone now and the door was locked. Gingerly, with shaking fingers, she removed the shawl Pervinca had tied about her, and then her gown: the bodice was ruined, a closer examination showing that repairing it would require more skill with a needle than she possessed. Laying both articles on the chair, Estella picked up a hand mirror and turned it to her now naked form. The marks on her arms were already livid, and the scratches across her décolletage, though ugly were not deep and would heal soon enough. She trained the mirror downwards, stifling a small sob when she saw the purple marks of a blow on her bosom, a trail of similar contusions leading downwards over her ribs, then more claw marks on her hip...almost not wishing to see, she shifted the angle of the glass to view the curve of her buttocks and found a cruel cross-hatching of scratches and bruises...  
  
For a long time she stood silent, looking at nothing. She set the mirror down, and stepped into the bath, the hot water at once a relief to her aching muscles, and a stinging reminder, had she yet needed one, of the broken skin on her body. Closing her eyes, she slid beneath the water. She was weary of weeping.  
  
Surfacing from the water's embrace, Estella laid her head against the high back of the bath, keeping her eyes tight shut. There was nothing for it but to get away. She wished, with all her heart, that Pervinca was right, that Merry might rescue her from this nightmare, but that was little more than a romantic dream, every bit as insubstantial as one of those smoke rings...  
  
Unbidden, memory stirred...  
  
_...The night of her coming of age party, warm, as balmy as midsummer although it was only April... Some of the men had been trying to top one another with ever more fanciful smoke rings and sounds of revelry carried on the breeze from the edge of the party field to the water meadow... "Walk with me Estella" he'd said, and that was where they'd ended, where she'd seen the dark glow in his eyes as he turned and took her hand – they had held hands before, many times, danced together, played together as children, and she wasn't sure when it had begun to change, but now it was more, the touch and linking of their fingers like the fitting of a key to a lock, or an answer to an unspoken question...For a long, long moment they stood looking at one another, then he bent toward her...His lips were warm and firm, instantly familiar, a light almost chaste kiss the first touch... He murmured her name, smiled and put his mouth against her mouth...She loved the soft nudge of his nose into her cheek, his special smell, like new mown hay, pipeweed and some indefinable, delicious flower...And then came the warm dart of his tongue in her mouth – deep within, excited hunger unfolded and clutched at her, made her pull him closer...She was lost in him, their bodies pressed together, but not closely enough... "Merry," she knitted the fingers of one hand into the bright curls at the nape of his neck...Only a stifled laugh from behind a tussock had broken the spell: Pippin, of course, spying on them, making Merry swoop for a clod of earth to hurl at his friend, but turning back to look at her before giving chase, his face shining...That was how it ought to be, the promise of more a source for yearning, not...  
  
_...Disgust, struggling, clawing...She shut her eyes tight, trying to block out Lotho and summon Merry...  
  
Yes, she had to get away.  
  
In the ordinary scheme of things there were relatives she could visit, the Tooks, her cousin Ferdibrand and his wife Mentha...these places would not do, not this time. The Shire was large, she doubted if any hobbit knew the length and breadth of it, and her own family was an especially unadventurous line of hobbits, known by name to all, but strangers to all but kin and those dwelling in their own farthing. She looked once more at the tattered gown lying on the chair by the bath – her ability with needle and thread was adequate at best, but there were other skills a woman might sell, and why might she not, like Dandy, Pennyroyal and many others like them find work as a servant somewhere far from Budgeford and the reach of Lotho Sackville-Baggins?


	5. Plans afoot

**Plans afoot**

Predictably, Pippin found his cousin in the stables. Whenever he was at home, Merry seemed to spend hours with the ponies, training them and even just grooming them although there were many hobbits employed by the Master of Buckland for that very purpose. Merry was brushing one of his ponies with furious concentration, and did not even look up at Pippin's greeting, merely grunting his acknowledgement.  
  
"There's a letter for you," Pippin proffered the small parchment packet, "looks like Frodo's seal."  
  
Slowly, Merry's rhythmical movements ceased, and he set aside the brush and took the letter, turning it over to examine the direction: Frodo's hand, right enough. A mixture of excitement and dread began to churn his innards, but instead of opening the letter, he slipped it into his coat pocket and turned back to the pony.  
  
Pippin frowned. "Aren't you going to read it?" There was an inquisitive rise in his voice.  
  
"No," Merry replied with exaggerated patience, and much more quietly, although he was giving way to irritation with his younger cousin, "not _here_, not _now_. Later, empty head." He inclined his head in the direction of the stable doors, where one of the grooms, Madoc was mucking out a stall.  
  
Pippin followed the direction of his nod; only to see Madoc down tools, wipe his hands on his clothes and walk away whistling. They were now alone, and he raised self-satisfied eyebrows and smiled. "Nothing to stop you now."  
  
A tired headshake was almost more than Merry could manage. "Here's the curry comb, break the habit of a lifetime and make yourself useful while I read."  
  
Regarding Merry with injured green eyes, Pippin nevertheless accepted the task and set to, whilst Merry brought forth the packet and broke the wax closure. The offer to groom one of Merry's prize ponies had to be viewed in the light of an honour, and was probably intended to be conciliatory, Pippin mused, however dreary it might seem to be. He heard Merry sigh and smiled to himself. "You were talking in your sleep something terrible last night..."  
  
"Will you let me read?"  
  
Momentarily silenced, Pippin made a few more desultory passes of the comb over Fortinbras' already shining coat. He patted the beast's neck, addressing himself to it, "Groaning and tossing and turning, he was. All night. I thought he was going to start practicing his kissing on the pillows at one stage...ouch!" He had ducked, but not quickly enough to avoid the cuff Merry aimed at him. Despite his protest of pain, however, Pippin was quaking with laughter. "It's _too_ easy, Merry, you've got to grow a thicker skin..."  
  
Merry held up the letter, his face betraying no amusement. "It's time. Frodo wants us to help him move over to Crickhollow in the next few weeks."  
  
That quieted Pippin's laughter. He nodded slowly. Crickhollow was the Buckland house Merry had helped Frodo find for his so-called retirement. "Oh. Right then." Merry was looking worried, folding and re-folding the letter, chewing the inside of his mouth and staring into the distance. "Does that mean we're still going with him?"  
  
Merry came out of his abstraction immediately, his sharply intelligent blue eyes darting about the stable as if seeking eavesdroppers, and put the packet away, this time into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. He was always like this whenever the subject of Frodo leaving the Shire came up; Pippin had noticed it many a time and had tried to follow his lead and be equally secretive. "We cannot let him go alone, or even just with Sam. All we've got to do is convince him of that."  
  
"Well dear cousin," Pippin gave Fortinbras a parting pat and started out of the stall, "the sooner we leave, the sooner we'll return, and while I don't relish the idea of our little trip I'd rather begin than be forever hanging back," he bent to scratch the ears of the old tomcat who policed the Brandybuck stables along with his legion of offspring, "though it would be nice to know exactly where were going. Who's a lovely old puss, then?"  
  
"I don't know that even Frodo understands that yet, Pip, so we can hardly find it out..." Merry broke off, shaking his head a little as if to exclude intrusive thoughts, "So – we'll ride out to Hobbiton tomorrow, two wagons should be enough, and we'll call in for Fatty on the way..."  
  
"I'm sorry to deprive you of a reason to call on Estella again, but Fatty has already gone to Hobbiton, he told me before we left Budgeford that he meant to go in and catch up with Folco Boffin – I expect they'll run into Frodo or visit him anyway..."Pippin broke off as Merry kicked at the straw, the movement sending the tabby cat into an acrobatic spin and hissing retreat. Rising from his haunches, Pippin eyed his cousin with bemused sympathy; "Oh, Merry, now I know why you've been in such a temper...I thought you made it up with her before we left..."  
  
There was along silence in which Merry tried and failed to master his irritation with his younger cousin. "You _don't _understand. We're not just 'going away' – it's perfectly possible we'll _never_ come back, do you even realize that?" Merry stared angrily at Pippin, and went on, conscious of heaping hurt upon hurt but unable to stop himself, "Have you ever _loved_ anyone? I'm not talking about wanting to lie with a girl, although, so help me...it's more than just that..."He began to walk away.  
  
"I love _you_," Pippin said softly, "and I understand you, better than you give me credit for."  
  
"Oh _Pip_," Merry shook his head, "that's...that's different..."

"You're going away without really telling her how you feel, keeping a secret from her that you know is going to break her heart..." Pippin put his head down and studied the floor with desperate concentration.  
  
"Pip..."tears sprang into Merry's eyes, "I'm _sorry_," he walked back to Pippin and put an arm about his shoulders, touching his brow to Pippin's, "you aren't such an idiot, are you?"  
  
"Thank you, I think." Pippin gave Merry's curls a companionable tug, broke away from him and began to walk towards the door.  
  
"I've made a dreadful mistake in not telling her...she'd never betray us..." Merry spoke so softly that Pippin almost couldn't hear him, and he paused but did not turn back to look at Merry, closing his eyes as Merry went on, "I should have told her everything...I love her."  
  
"Then we'd better drop in at Budgeford after all, hadn't we?" Pippin replied, somehow managing to sound cheerful. "Come on Merry, I think I heard the bell for supper a while ago..."


	6. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

Budgeford was all of a bustle that evening as the master and mistress returned from their sojourn at Great Smials. Ordovacar stretched his meaty frame, cramped as it had been in the confines of the trap cart, and looked about his hall with satisfaction.  
  
"You there, Pennyroyal," he summoned the maid from her attentions to his wife's baggage, "it has been a long and tiring journey – bring some refreshments to the parlour and," the young hobbit was over-eager to do his bidding, almost out of earshot before he had finished his instructions, "_and_ a goodly stoop of ale."  
  
"_Ordo_..." said Rosamunda with a weary shake of her head.  
  
"What of it?" Ordovacar was instantly defensive, his already florid face deepening into crimson, "we have something to celebrate, wife, have we not?"  
  
Rosamunda sighed and passed her hat to Dandy, then signaled with a small, long understood movement of her hand that they were to be left alone. On the road home, they had met with Lotho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins traveling in the opposite direction: according to a complacent Lotho, he had made his suit to Estella and all was now settled. Rosamunda thought this unlikely. "I set little store by anything Lotho says, and neither should you."  
  
Ordovacar ignored his wife, as he was inclined to ignore all things that failed to accord with his preferred version of reality. "Where are the girls?" he mused, as though Rosamunda had not spoken, then repeated the question loudly after the departed form of Dandy, "And that blackguard, my son? Where is Mister Fredegar?" Dandy returned, darting a look of apology at her mistress before opening her lips to reply, but Ordovacar went on, "Is it so very unreasonable for a parent to expect his children to welcome him home after a month from their sight?"  
  
Dandy bobbed a curtsey at her master. "Young master went to Hobbiton, some engagement with Mister Baggins and Mister Boffin, he said...he wasn't sure when he'd be back," she paused, allowing Pennyroyal to edge past her with a tray laden with all manner of food and a huge jug of ale. Privately, Dandy thought her master was in high enough spirits already without pouring more on top, but he wasted no time in following the supplies into the parlour, and had the jug and a tankard in hand before the younger maid had even set them down. "Miss Estella is not well and has gone to bed – Miss Pervinca was reading to her."  
  
Ordovacar finished the draught he'd poured and smacked his lips appreciatively. "Excellent!" He began to refill the tankard, raising his eyebrow quizzically as Dandy's words finally sank home. "Miss Estella 'not well'?" He snorted and ale slopped over the rim of his cup onto the floor. He had little patience with any kind of infirmity, unless it was his drink- addled own. "Stuff and nonsense! Miss Pervinca is here for her company, she must get up and..."  
  
"Perhaps Lotho's visit has distressed her," Rosamunda cut in over her husband. She thought once more of their brief meeting with Lotho and Lobelia, and how Lotho had insisted that Estella had accepted his proposal. Her incredulity at this news had been unconcealed, and Lotho had turned cold, unblinking eyes upon her and smiled, that horrible insinuating smile of his...It had made her blood run cold. Of course, a marriage between Lotho and Estella was what they'd all been working towards, but there was something deeply disquieting about that hobbit... "I'll go up and see her..."  
  
"Oh no ma'am," Pennyroyal piped, rising from where she'd been mopping at the ale Ordovacar seemed intent on spilling, "it was young Mister Brandybuck who upset her; last night..."  
  
A look shot between Rosamunda and Ordovacar, and another between the two serving women. Pennyroyal was suddenly conscious that she had made a colossal blunder.  
  
"He was _here_? Last night?" demanded Ordovacar.  
  
Dandy's hands twisted together and she tried to smile, the result looking hopelessly ingratiating. "Not _alone_, Master, there was nothing improper – young master was here, and young Mister Took – they were not alone..."  
  
"Well Dandy," Pennyroyal corrected unthinkingly, "Mister Fred and the Took's son were both _completely_ drunk..." she stopped, seeing the thunderous expression on Ordovacar's brows, and clapped a hand over her mouth, wishing she could call back the words.  
  
Ordovacar slammed down his mug, careless of his favourite liquid splashing over the rim, and stormed out of the parlour towards the bedrooms.  
  
"Ordo!" Rosamunda followed her husband as quickly as her feet would carry her.  
  
He heard the attempted restraint in his wife's voice, but it had no power to reach him. Without so much as a knock, he threw open the door to his daughter's chamber.  
  
Estella did not wake from her sleep – Pervinca had acquired a posset from Dandy and Estella had fallen into a deep sleep soon after drinking off the foul mixture. Pervinca, however, was startled, a sudden and irrational fear that Lotho had returned making her leap from her chair by Estella's bed. The ruined dress fell to the floor, needle and thread, thimble and scissors tumbling after. Relief came almost instantly, and Pervinca bent to retrieve the sewing she had just begun. "Oh Uncle Ordo, you frightened me."  
  
The smile died on her lips as Ordovacar, his expression grim, extracted the gown from her hands and held it up for inspection. Pervinca was particularly skilled with a needle, she was sure she could mend the gown almost invisibly, but she'd scarcely had time to thread her needle and it was still obvious that the bodice of the dress had been rent across.  
  
"What is _this_? What is the meaning of _this_?" Ordovacar thrust the dress at his wife and rounded on the two goggle-eyed servants, "What _exactly_ has been going on in my absence?"  
  
Dandy and Pennyroyal looked at one another helplessly: in this temper, there was no answer they could make that would satisfy their master. On the bed Estella stirred, but did not wake. Rosamunda stared down at her daughter, and then silently, she drew back the coverlet and saw the bruises marking her arm. _Was that a scratch?_ She bit her lip and carefully replaced the blanket, staying Ordovacar's hand as he moved to drag Estella from the bed. "Husband, no! Someone has harmed her..."  
  
"Then I will get it out of her!"  
  
Pervinca remembered her promise to Estella but she could not remain silent. "It was Lotho – your precious Lotho! Thank what ever lucky star she was born under that I arrived not a moment too soon to stop him!" All seemed too shocked by her words to speak and she went on with an insolence she would never otherwise have ventured, "She will _never_ marry him, never! The idea is disgusting, he is hardly more than a beast!"  
  
Ordovacar shook his head, disbelieving. "Brandybuck..."  
  
"You think _Merry_ would ever hurt her?" Pervinca laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, "He _loves_ her, and she him!"  
  
Puce by now with barely suppressed fury, Ordovacar could not accept what he was being told. He was as uncomplicated a hobbit as could be, any sadness could be countered by good food, a warm fire and, best of all, fine drink. How much more gratifying had all those things seemed for those brief moments when he had thought the spectre of ruin was finally lifted from his house? What made it all so much worse was that when they had first come to the plan involving Lotho, Rosamunda had warned him that there was some possibility of an attachment between Estella and Merry Brandybuck, but he hadn't listened – there was nothing so well calculated to enrage Ordovacar Bolger as being wrong. Eyes narrowed to small slits, he turned to Pervinca, "You have not understood, you are confused Pervinca. Estella and Lotho Sackville-Baggins are affianced. I will overlook this impertinence, but you had best return home at first light tomorrow..."  
  
"_What_?" Pervinca exclaimed, "Estella needs me, she..."  
  
At that moment, Estella sighed deeply in her sleep and clutched the corner of the pillow. Her lips moved: "_Merry_."  
  
Ordovacar struck one bunched fist into his other open palm. "He is not to see her, speak to her, write to her...Do you _hear_ me? If he comes here, she is not at home," he could not meet Pervinca's eyes, so outraged, nor Rosamunda's, conflicted and guilty, "there is far too much depending on this match with Lotho, it cannot be thrown away for a girlish fancy," he moved to the doorway, and fixed the two maids with a baleful glare, "Meriadoc Brandybuck is _not_ to see my daughter."


End file.
